Hotel Andromeda

by Edited by Jack L. Chalker

  “Stop it, Celeste.”

  “No, it’s true. You’re magnificent. This is the Saurian I married, come back to me.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Oh, yes, my darling, yes.”

  They embraced passionately and several Terran guests scurried out of range of their madly flapping tails.

  When Raoul came up for air, he waved a hand vaguely at Ranee and Lekvich. “Cancel that robot,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll need it after all.”

  “Very good, sir.” Ranee retrieved the request and killed it as, arm in arm and tail in tail, Raoul and Celeste made their way to the tube for rooms 1165-1280.

  Bzzzzzt! Bzzzzzt! Bzzzzzt!

  “Just don’t stand there, Lekvich. Answer the phone!”

  “Right away. Ranee.”

  Lekvich sent a maintenance crew down to wing seven to mop up, and an environmental engineer to room 842 to restore gravity. He also arranged for the null-g gym to be opened, stopped the rain in room 1348 and double-checked on the Poltronian guppy. Then, with a sigh of relief, he leaned back in his web seat. The console was suddenly quiet. Lekvich wiped his sweaty forehead on the back of his hand.

  The silence lengthened. He became aware that Ranee was staring at him. Probably she was going to fire him. Well, he was so tired that he almost didn’t care. His first night at the Hotel Andromeda had been chaotic and maddening. He didn’t deserve to be there. Perhaps he could get a job on the maintenance crew, mopping up after water-breathers.

  “Well, Lekvich,” Ranee began.

  Here it comes, he thought.

  “You had the con for almost four hours and in that time there were three environmental accidents, postponed euthanasia, twenty-seven complaints, and one near-divorce.”

  Lekvich told himself he would be a man about it, and wouldn’t cry when she dismissed him.

  She nodded thoughtfully, then said, “All in all, not too shabby.”

  “What?” Lekvich said. “I mean, do you really think so?”

  “Sure.” She gave him a quick smile. “In fact, I’ve seen much worse debuts.”

  “But the swimming pool—the guppy—Raoul and Celeste.”

  “Forget it.”

  Lekvich Tor glowed with pride. He hadn’t done badly, after all! He had weathered his first night alone at the console and Ranee was pleased. He began to relax and even look forward to the remaining hours of his first shift. He gazed dreamily about the lobby. Once more it seemed magical and filled with exotic, glamorous, exciting people.

  “Excuse me.”

  He looked directly into the most hideous face—if that was what it was—that he had ever seen. It was a heaving mass of quills and boils in which three nostrils, a slash of a mouth, and several white staring eyes somehow managed to be in both the right and wrong places simultaneously.

  “I’m the liaison with the hotel for the Wugmump convention,” it said. Its breath was rancid and its voice harsh and grating. “I want to go over some details before the rest of us check in.”

  “How many are coming?” Lekvich asked, fascinated and repelled at the same time.

  “About six thousand. I imagine you and I will be working together very closely indeed over the next six days.”

  Lekvich looked at Ranee.

  Ranee nodded encouragingly.

  Lekvich leaned close, until he was able to whisper in his supervisor’s ear. “Will you excuse me, please?” he said. “I have to go to the loo.” And he left Ranee staring, mouth open, at the Wugmump as he hurried away.

  The Room Key

  Terry Kepner

  “Ooooh, are oou da one?” a voice whispered softly, close to her ear, “Modher sad oou would be ere soon.” She vaguely heard the soft sibilants of two other voices, but the words were unclear. “Bud oou hab long lide fur and zhe sad oou hab dark short fur.”

  “Mmmmm?” Pat mumbled, more asleep than awake.

  “Ooooh,” the same voice said, “Oou smell ‘onderfull. Modher musd made a misdake. Ooou are da one. I yesd knaw id.”

  A soft fur blanket drifted to her side. Ah, thought Pat, a robot maid dropping off a blanket. They must have realized the room wasn’t ready for occupancy. She put her arm out and discovered that it wasn’t a blanket, but a large pillow. Oh, well, she thought, that’s okay; it’s nice and warm. She turned on her side and snuggled closer to it.

  “Zhe likes me!” the voice said. A fur strip draped across her side and back, and another across her legs; a pillow with Jeny Kepner tassels. “Modher waz worried oou would nod like uz.”

  The fur pillow was very soft and silky, and Pat found herself rubbing against it to feel it sliding across her skin. She had always liked the feel of fur, but these sensations were wonderfully erotic. She sleepily ran her hand gently across the pillow, enjoying the texture. She felt a soft puff of air ruffle the hair by her ear. Another fur pillow pressed against her back. Part of it draped over her side. She puzzled on it for a moment, then decided that Room Service must have sent up two pillows to make up for not sending a blanket. Maybe they were out of them. Two fur ropes twined around her legs. She felt yet another rope touch her foot. She shifted slightly and a pillow draped itself across her feet.

  Well, with three warm and furry pillows on her bed, she didn’t have to worry about getting cold tonight. She snuggled close to them and drifted into a pleasant, and erotic, dream.

  Pat stretched and stared at the wall in front of her. For the first time in days, she felt rested. She blinked slowly, thinking about her dream.

  As erotic dreams go, she decided, that one was pretty good.

  She felt her face grow hot just thinking about it

  It had to have been that fur coverlet Room Service had dropped off. It had been so silky smooth and sensual. She wondered if she would have another dream like that one tonight.

  She must have kicked the blanket down in the night—and no wonder! She barely could feel it covering her feet. Funny, she didn’t remember Room Service dropping by, but then again, she wouldn’t have noticed if Attila the Hun had walked into her room last night.

  Room Service? Room Service. What had happened to her wake-up call? She flipped over and sat up. She froze, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

  Seated at the foot of her bed were three non-humans. She closed her eyes. They were still here when she opened them.

  The aliens resembled weasels, with long thin snouts that ended in black noses. A dozen long, graceful silver whiskers sprouted from both sides of their snouts, much like those on a cat or a dog. Forward-facing soft brown eyes that were only a bit larger than a human’s met her gaze briefly before blinking and looking down at the bed. Their rounded ears were on the sides of their heads, but more toward the back of the head, with light-colored tips projecting slightly above it. The insides of their ears were almost completely black.

  Covering each of them was a thin coat of long fur, but each of them was a different color. Their long arms ended in thin hands with very, very long claws, and long, thin muscular tails. All three had their tails draped possessively across her feet. There was no coverlet. And she was naked.

  As a Terran Stellar Lines spaceship third-class copilot, she had been taught to keep her cool under any circumstance. The company couldn’t afford to have panicky pilots at the controls of their city-sized spaceships. One mistake made by a distracted or hysterical pilot could cost the lives of everyone aboard the ship, not to mention the loss of the cargo and the ship itself. Staying calm no matter the situation was an important job criterion.

  Dealing with alien races had been only a small part of her training, but that had focused mostly on the major languages and customs of the races with whom TSL primarily dealt. Nothing had been mentioned about finding one’s self naked in a strange room with three aliens, male or otherwise. She would have to wing it.

  She scooted backward to the wall. She pulled her legs up until her knees were in front of her breasts and her feet flat on the bed. She folded her arms acro
ss her knees.

  The middle alien, a dark strawberry blonde in color—she knew friends who would practically kill to get their hair that particular shade—bowed deeply, followed instantly by the other two. They kept their eyes chastely on the foot of the bed. They were clearly males. Embarrassingly clear, she thought. From the small pile of belts and pouches she now saw in one corner of the room, they obviously did not wear clothes in public.

  While the others remained unmoving, the one on Pat’s right, a beautiful calico, stood and walked over to a tray on the shelf of the computer terminal. He brought the tray to the bed, then dropped to his knees and held the tray out to her. He kept his attention locked on the tray. It held a glass and a small plate with what looked like a roll on it. From the way they acted, so stiff and formal, Pat felt that her next action would be vital to these aliens, that it was a test of some type. She had a momentary vision of her refusing the offering on the tray and provoking a major interstellar incident. Her chance for a career with any of the major shipping lines, especially TSL, would be ruined.

  Hesitantly, she lifted the glass and cautiously sniffed it. It smelled like plain water. She took a sip. It was water. Suddenly thirsty, she tipped the glass and drank half of it. She saw the alien’s eyes briefly flick up to her face to watch. She glanced at the other two. They didn’t appear to have moved, but their long whiskers quivered slightly. She thought what might have been a smile temporarily flitted across the face of the strawberry blonde.

  She replaced the glass and picked up the plate. She sniffed at the roll, took a nibble, then a bite. She watched for a reaction in the aliens as she chewed. The blonde was positively grinning now.

  The roll was dry, and had a rather bland taste, but she hadn’t eaten at all yesterday. She finished off the roll in just a few bites, following it with the remainder of the glass of water. She gave them a hesitant smile.

  When the glass hit the tray the alien whisked it away to the table by the computer terminal and rejoined his companions at the foot of her bed. All three sat upright and looked straight at her now. Two were rocking back and forth, their four-foot-long tails swaying around behind them. One, with solid dark brown, almost black, fur, was bouncing in place, humming happily. They seemed rather pleased with themselves.

  She was not. Who were they and why were they in her room? She absolutely had not requested Hotel Personal Services to send up a gigolo, much less three non-human gigolos! And they did not act like hotel employees.

  A quick look around the room revealed that her luggage still had not arrived. And without the blanket, she had no way to cover herself.

  Her first inclination was to wait for someone to rescue her.

  But that might take all day, and she had to report in to her supervisor on the Terran Stellar Lines’ Star Cruiser Africa by noon, local time, or lose her assignment. She would have to extricate herself from this predicament. She took a deep breath and forced herself to move.

  Keeping her plastic smile firmly in place (the one she used when dealing with passengers asking idiotic questions), she stood. All three aliens kept their eyes on her, barely blinking. Having the aliens watch as she walked to the cleaning bin made her intensely self-conscious.

  Pat’s smile vanished and her teeth clenched as she stared into the empty bin. Where were her clothes? Just what the heck was going on here? Had the aliens hidden them? She wished someone would rescue her.

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what else could go wrong. Her eyes popped open and she darted to the computer. Only the cleaning tag and her watch were there. She had a momentary memory flash of dropping her room key into her pants pocket, now lost somewhere in the laundry. And, she saw, she had already missed her noon report-in time.

  On the table beside the computer was the tray with its empty glass and plate, and another two glasses and plates, almost empty. The aliens plainly had started with three plates and glasses, and must have decided to give her one set while splitting the other two among themselves. She wondered why as she frowned.

  She turned and gave the aliens another plastic smile. “Uhh, excuse me, I need to freshen up a little.” She pointed at the door to the bathroom and started to sidle over that way.

  The aliens, still seated, bowed again.

  With the door solidly closed behind her, she slumped against the sink counter. “Oh, God. I don’t believe this!” she groaned. Focusing her eyes on the mirror in front of her, she groaned again. Her shoulder-length hair, which her mother had always called dirty-blonde, was snarled and awry, including one small batch that stood straight up. She patted it down, vainly hoping it would stay that way.

  At least, thanks to last night’s sound sleep, there weren’t any dark circles under her blue eyes. Anytime she missed sleep her light complexion tended to make such shadows that much more apparent.

  But worse, much worse, the towel rack behind her was completely empty. That shattered her hope of fashioning a couple of the towels into the semblance of a halter-top and skirt. The bathroom was as devoid of furnishing as the other room.

  Splashing cold water on her face did not help. She briefly considered drowning herself in the bathtub, then noticed the hot-air vent. Mom had always said a good hot shower helped one to think.

  She stood in front of the blast of warm air, drying off. The way she figured it, with even a halfway decent lawyer, she should come out of this owning a hefty percentage of the hotel. Or at least wealthy beyond any dreams she had ever had. She decided that an out-of-court settlement would be best. That would protect her career.

  She cautiously opened the door. Yep. They were still there. Giving them her plastic smile again, she stepped over to the terminal. The display was built into the wall behind the simple touch pad on the abbreviated table below it. Fortunately, the terminal design was such that only the person in front of it could hear what was said. The aliens would not hear her reporting them to Hotel Security.

  “Andromeda Security, please,” she said, pressing the activate button.

  “I’m sorry, honored guest, but access to that function from this terminal is blocked.”

  She stared at the computer, astounded. “Andromeda Security, please,” she repeated. She got the same response.

  Why would access to hotel security be blocked? All right, she would try something else. “Room Service, please,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, honored guest, but access to that function from this terminal is blocked.”

  A few minutes later she stood leaning against the terminal with both hands. This, she thought, cannot be happening. She tried the last standard function she could think of. Emergency.

  “State the nature of the emergency, please, honored guest.”

  At last! “I have three uninvited aliens in my room.”

  “Is someone injured?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Is there a medical emergency or a fire?”

  “No…” She did not like the way this was going.

  “This function is for emergencies only. If you need security, please use that function. If this is not an emergency, please do not use this function.”

  “But the terminal says that access to that function is blocked’”

  “I am sorry, honored guest. Unless this is an emergency, I must terminate this call.” There was a click.

  “Damn computer.” She stared at the blank display.

  “Terminal, my clothes were not returned from Laundry Services last night.”

  “I’m sorry, honored guest, but you “must access Laundry Services for assistance in locating lost items.”

  “But access to that function is blocked,” she wailed. She leaned her head against the cool surface of the wall above the terminal in exasperation. “Terminal,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, honored guest?”

  “Why are functions blocked at this terminal?”

  “The party booking this room requested that all functions be disabled.”

  “That’s nonsense,
” she said, shocked. “I made no such request.” She chewed on a fingernail for a moment as she thought. “Terminal, what about Emergency Services? I called them.”

  “Emergency Services cannot be blocked. All other services are blocked.”

  “But this is my room. I did not request that calls be blocked. I order you to remove the blocks.”

  “I’m sorry, honored guest, but access to that function from this terminal is blocked. If you desire to change the terminal settings, you must make that request to the registration desk.”

  Arguing with the terminal was useless, she knew. It would simply parrot back similar responses to her questions. “Terminal, get me the front desk.”

  “I’m sorry, honored guest, but access to that function from this terminal is blocked.”

  Pat slammed her hand against the terminal in frustration. She was stuck. Access to any function that might lead her to a sentient being was blocked. In the meantime, she was naked in her room with three furry aliens. She turned to look at the aliens, and nervously chewed her lip. They sat by the bed, looking for all the world like they were waiting for her to say or do something important.

  She took a deep breath. Naked she may be, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her; she had to get her clothes. Making her parade through the hotel naked to get to a working terminal would just cost the hotel that much more in court. She walked over to the door and put her hand on the handle. She steeled herself for the upcoming ordeal, then opened the door.

  Or, at least, she tried to open the door. The handle refused to move. She pushed harder. No reaction. She put her full weight on the handle. It still did not move.

  The door was security-locked both ways. No key, no open door. She was locked in. Why would Terran Stellar Lines keep a block of rooms with such a security lock?

  “Damn!” She leaned her head against the door, struggling to keep control. A quick look at her wristwatch revealed she was already an hour late for her noon report-in time, and had only an hour before her ship left.